Holdin' You 'Cause We Look Great Together
by YoungMarie
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Claire and Derrick. He will always choose Massie Block, and she's been fooled enough times to see the lie. That's why she doesn't tell him about the baby. T for some light sexual content and language. *Complete


**A/N: So I wrote this months ago, and I have to admit, I am insanely proud of it. But anywhoo, I hope you enjoy.**

**This is a ONE-SHOT. Meaning that I will NOT "Update soon". Notice how it says "COMPLETE" up there? Yeah. Not continuing.**

(You could say that I'm a little sick of people telling me to "update soon" on my completed one-shots. Like, seriously?)

_Oh yeah and I don't own The Clique or anything like that. But I own the idea so no stealing. Thank you._

* * *

Derrick Harrington is her drug.

She should quit him. No, she _needs_ to quit him. But the nightly shakes she gets without him, the cold sweats, the sleepless nights, they just aren't worth quitting him. He's slowly become her everything, and he isn't even hers. She whisks away priorities, forgets the world, desperation leaking into her very voice, all to get to him.

Derrick Harrington is her drug, but she will never quit.

Massie Bock hangs on his arm like a pathetic _girl_. She twirls her hair and writes in loopy handwriting; intoxicating perfume wafting. You can catch her dainty smell from five feet away. She looks at him with stars in her eyes, the perfect love story amidst the rest of the scandal at Westchester High. They were golden, his blonde hair contrasting with her dark brown. His eyes warm and chocolate, her eyes that flashing, liquid sunshine amber. She wears a watch with diamonds that streak the surface and makeup that costs more than Claire's tuition.

Her hair is dark, shiny, you can get lost in it. He holds her hand and runs his hands over her arms when he hugs her. They are so perfect, loved by everyone. _Together since seventh grade_, they all say with a soft smile. _Probably going to marry. Have beautiful kids._

When she talks, she says horrible things. Claire has listened to it since seventh grade. Things about how Jamie, the girl who wears overalls all the time, was probably born in a barn. Things about how nobody is as good as her, because nobody is as good as her wardrobe. Everyone listens, and even if they think what she's saying is mean, they laugh.

He picks Massie every time, and Claire doesn't know why.

Sex in his car shouldn't be so nice, feel so great. She shouldn't easily slide in, grinning, closing the door with a swift click. Grinning because until Massie called, she got to be his girl, the one he loved. He kissed _her_, he told _her _he loved her, he promised _her_ they'd be together forever. Secrets that mean everything when she's on the verge, on the cusp, of the star-studded world that ecstasy brings her.

She inhaled all of it, believing every word._ I'm going to leave her soon. It'll be just to two of us. _

And every time he watches her leave, steps heavy with the defeat because that? It will never happen. He chastely kisses her on the cheek and gets rid of the condom, the evidence. Every time he makes sure her thong isn't stuck under the seat, that her stray blonde hairs aren't lying atop the glove compartment.

She is so gullible, so desperate, more pathetic than Massie ever was. She has been turned into the _other woman_, the bad best friend, the whore. He has made her wrong and different from the rest.

But every time she got to be close, so close, to be a part of him and only him. Skin against skin, lips against lips. Mumbled words whispered in passion. His thrusts getting strong, more urgent, his breaths getting shorter, his hair getting damp and sweaty and he came. She raked her nails over his back, through his hair, moaning softly as she sagged in pleasurable defeat.

She'd tried to leave him once, but he'd given her that look. The one where his eyes clouded over and he silently let her know that he needed her, desperately, every day of every month of every year. Maybe he didn't exactly know it, but he needed her. And she couldn't leave him.

"_I love you baby." _He'd lean his head down, pressing his forehead against her shoulder, lips lightly biting her breast. She sighed and kissed the top of his head._ "You know I love you, Claire."_

He always told her that he'd be forever hers.

And she believed him. Always.

****

Senior year, eighth period English. Massie is tightening her grip on him, suspicious that he's been spacing out more than usual. Suspicious that there's someone else on his mind. His eyes had been known to stray, but never for long. She'd always been the one he loved the most.

Derrick isn't meeting Claire's eyes.

She's late in getting her period. Not that it was an odd occurrence, seeing as Claire isn't often on a predictable schedule. But she still knows, anyway. Call it a... _mother_'s intuition, but she feels different. And it isn't the motherly glow, _god_, no.

The flutter starts low in her belly, staying deep where she can't really tell what it means. Hiding from the rest of the world. Covered in darkness and protected by... well, her. It isn't a kick, just the soft beating of wings, she thinks it feels like. Traveling between hipbones, the soft thrumming it sends is what makes her know.

Creation of a life, the most beautiful thing you can make. A bundle of cells, soon going to be a full form, something with a beating heart and a voice.

Creation of a tiny life. Destruction of hers. Destruction of Derricks.

Wind whistling, heart pounding, mind becoming numb in the cold winter air.

She knows what is happening.

There are four different kinds of tests rolling towards the register, all promising the same thing: fast, accurate results. That's what she needs. She wants the reassurance that will make her more careful, more aware of birth control. But she knows she will not get that. She'll get herself a permanent reminder of the mistake.

The lady at the register, kind eyes, gray hair, brushes her hair as she hands her the plastic bag. Her eyes are filled with pity.

"Good luck," is her slight whisper. Claire isn't even sure if she'd imagined it or not.

The four little sticks are soiled, the process over, capped and lined up on the edge of the sink. Now the clock is ticking.

She sits on the side of the bathtub, rocking back and forth as her body forces her to take deep breaths. The fluttering is strong, reminding remind reminding. It's there and it keeps her from being completely sane. Her resolve is slipping, ever so slightly.

Three minutes for two of them, four minutes for one, and five for the last.

She blinks as she shakes the first two, taking in the little screen, the picture deciding her future.

And pink plus sign. A smiley face.

Number three is ready.

A single word: yes.

Yes, yes, yes. Yes, your worst fears are confirmed. Yes, your life is ruined. Yes, you fucked up. Yes, you can cry now.

Number four is done.

And again, a single word: pregnant.

Yes, your pregnant.

Yes.

_Pregnant._

****

It's three am. That time of the night when you feel like you're the only one alive. The rest of the world hides in a hidden cavern, sleeping in its dream-land. The window shows a full moon, so pretty and bright.

She listened to the sound of the wind, against her home. The tiny whistling and whooshing.

It's three am, and she isn't even really thinking.

She still has the pregnancy tests, hidden under her bed. Every once in a while she checks one, like it might change it's mind, but they never do. She's pregnant forever.

Derrick will not be happy, when she tells him. He'll curse a lost future, ask her why she isn't on the pill, blame her, she thinks. Why would she stay with someone who would do that?

God only knows.

The pillow is wet with her tears, a strand of hair sticking to her wet cheek. The world is crashing down inside of her and nobody even knows.

And then Claire feels the wetness somewhere else, down below. She pulls on her lamp and throws off her covers.

There's blood, red between her legs and spreading along with white of her sheets. Evil red, signifying the ending of this story.

_Miscarriage._

Her mouth formed the words she'd been thinking in her head all along. Silent whispers while the world sleeps.

_**Derrick doesn't need to know. **_

****

_Click._ Claire grinned as the model smoothly switched from her back facing the camera to her face being the focal point. "Nice, Daniella," Claire murmured softly, an endless stream of shots being taken of the young girl's face. She was new and fresh, from Venezuela, with dark hair that hadn't been treated and a face that took makeup well.

Fresh from NYU, the one thing she'd been most interested in was taking pictures of people. A modeling agency had immediately taken her in, based off the recommendation of her mentor and photography teacher, Mr. Henley.

"Okay, that's a wrap. You did great, sweetie." She placed a hand on the model's shoulder. Daniella was finally done shaking with nervousness. "Seriously, they'll love you. We got some awesome shots."

Dani smiled with relief and was off instantly to wardrobe, ready to change out of the rather uncomfortable number she'd been forced into. She'd worn it like a pro, though, and Claire admired her for that.

Then she feels it. The flutter, the feeling, spreading from hipbone to hipbone, deep inside of her.

"Fucking..." she mumbled, sighing. Because that's all it takes, and she knows what's happened and that it's horrible. She and Derrick hadn't even had unprotected sex in years. She wasn't that stupid any more.

Massie, if she ever found out, would kill her.

"Are you okay?" The intern, a young man named James, looked worried. She felt her stomach contract, and then he grabbed the trashcan and thrust it into her waiting arms.

_There hadn't been nausea last time_, she mused as her breakfast, an apple, and the Famous Amos cookies she'd had earlier came up in quick succession.

Later, in her apartment, she slowly raised her t-shirt, inspecting her stomach.

No bump. But again, a flutter. Low in her hipbones. And then a wave of sickness.

"Shit," she said, the sound echoing in the stark silence of the living room. She ran to the bathroom, barely getting the toilet seat up in time.

"Shit, shit, shit."

****

Derrick comes over later, and they don't sleep together. All night he holds her hand, knowing that something is wrong.

"You okay?"

She nodded, taking another huge bite of the chocolate cake she'd made as a result of a strong craving.

The past few months, she hadn't noticed the nonexistent period or the weight gain, or even the cravings. Work had been stressful, too stressful for her to think of more than Derrick and Massie still being together (which was always on her mind anyway) and making sure she didn't disappoint her boss.

He grinned, relieved, and went into a rant. "Good. Because I had the worst day. Mass was all up my ass, saying I've been working so much lately. She still doesn't know about us. Crazy, right? So-"

"Let's _not_. Okay? I do not fucking care about Massie and you."

He drew back, breath stopping. "I'm.. I'm sorry, babe."

She swallowed the cake and gave him a grim look. "This might be sudden, but we're over."

She hadn't said that to him in a long time. The last time she had, it was her second year of college. A week later, his calls had done the trick, and they were together again.

"Claire? What?" And then his eyes, they weren't chocolate, they were black again. She saw that look, the look that always told her that he needed her, real and true. He needed her, even if he didn't know it, and she was leaving him.

"I can't do this." She felt the rush of hormones, the flutter, again, making her stomach feel sick, and then she was crying. "Leave." He stood up, confused by how sudden it was.

"Claire, I'm... I'm sorry." His voice cracked. "I love you."

"No you don't. I can't do this. I can't keep wanting you to leave her."

Everything is tinged with a familiar ache, everything hurts. She kept her eyes on his, the navy blue staying strong.

And then he walked out.

She thinks she's finally quit him.

****

Her car didn't take much coaxing to leave on the cool November morning. She had packed up her clothes and essentials, then took off, the rising sun crowning itself into her own fairy tale.

You didn't need a prince for a fairy tale, that was for sure. You just needed yourself. And, if you don't have a choice, then a baby.

The road stretches on, her white sunglasses taking up half her face blocking out the infinite light that could blind her. Derrick hasn't called or texted or emailed. Massie hasn't talked to her in a while anyway, the simple falling out of friends that didn't have much in common in the first place.

Lady Gaga sings on the radio about Paparazzi and for the first time in days, she doesn't feel nausea washing over her every five seconds.

"Just you and me, baby," she said, repeating the words Derrick had promised her so many times. It's funny, now, being used in a context like this. She isn't desperate to be with a boy who has only hurt her, she's promising the world to her baby boy.

"Us against the world," she yelled, windows open, letting in the frosty air.

****

Arizona is warm, dusty, and desert. She loves it immediately.

It has the peace that New York lacked, immense space and an air thick with... nothing. It's empty.

Her apartment is small, just two bedrooms and IKEA furniture. She eats Macaroni and Cheese, Ben & Jerry's, along with the occasional Whole Foods. The baby kicks and makes her photographs turn out blurry. A sunset becomes a red mess, the ground orange, random parts of it clear as day, others simply mush. She develops it and sends it to Mr. Henley.

**What was your inspiration? **He asks.** This is wonderful.**

She peers at the email, unsure of how to respond. What was her inspiration? There was none. It was because of... well, the baby didn't have a name.

"_I like Benjamin. Strong, traditional, you can call him Benny." Derrick leaned against her headboard, hands playing with her hair._

_She made a soft, tired sound, agreeing._

Ha, inspiration never arrived so easily.

**Thank Benjamin,** she wrote. **He knows what he's doing.**

She clicked send and then went on to eating her pad thai, despite the fact that he kicked like crazy when she did.

****

Her mother arrives on a Tuesday afternoon, two weeks before the due date, to help her get ready and to be there when he arrives.

"Have you... have you told him yet?"

Claire looked up, shaking her head. "If he ever manages to leave his wife and track me down, then he'll know. But no, I haven't told that bastard a thing."

Judi pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing into her hair. "Oh, sweetie. You're so goddamn strong." She focused on the TV, a rerun of Grey's anatomy. "He never deserved you. You know that, right?"

Claire didn't look up. "I think I always kind of did. But sometimes enlightenment comes a little too late."

****

He is here. He is kicking and screaming and bloody and slimy and he has a nasty cord attached to where his belly-button should be. He is seemingly pissed-off, but she can see he's happy to breathe air. She wants to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but they are clamped shut within his fury.

"Benjamin," Judi breathes, letting go of Claire's hand as the nurses act quickly. Cut the cord, clean him up, wrap him in a soft blue blanket. One young nurse looks at him with a soft, teary look in her eyes, and another bumps her, telling her to stop daydreaming.

He is in her arms. He is still screaming. And she is crying with him.

"Oh my god," she sobbed, rubbing her cheek against his.

Judi stepped back, trying not to seem like an unwanted presence.

"Oh my god," Claire said, softer now. "I love you so much." Her forehead is sweaty, blonde hair plastered to the sides of her head. _Push away the pain,_ the nurses had told her. Turns out shoving a baby out from between her legs is like an unknown, different, unreal pain.

He screams once more, a loud, horrible, ear-ripping sound, and then he is quiet.

"Ben," she whispered, "I hope you grow up faster than your father."

****

California is a change of pace, a different atmosphere. It has the noise she admired in New York, but she isn't constantly forced to live with it. The little house on the little, residential street is small and comfortable, with a driveway that holds a basketball hoop and enough space for two cars. She imagines him, age sixteen, smiling as she handed him the keys to a new car, it fitting perfectly into the space that is next to hers.

Mr. Henley saves her ass again, getting her a job at an L.A. modeling agency.

**This is perfect. Those pictures from Arizona were great, but people are your real talent, **he says.

Ben grows up before she can even comprehend what's happening. One minute he's crying because she's trying to wean him off breast-feeding, an angry seven-month old, and the next he's running around the house too fast for her to catch up. Life becomes a constant chase and hold, her running like crazy to make sure he doesn't bump his head on the coffee table, or slip on the wet kitchen floor, or eat that gross stuff in the trash.

His hair is blonde. Not at bright as Claire's, but the warm sandy color that was Derrick's. His eyes are all hers, though: a dark blue, thicker and deeper that the ocean itself.

His face is Derrick's. Hell, he could _be_ Derrick, if those blue eyes were a warm brown.

She's setting a tiny soccer ball in front of him as soon as he can walk in a straight line. Kicking, dribbling, until he's five and can join a local team with the rest of the kindergartners. Time flies, he gets better, and she is there, even on the cold mornings, to cheer him on.

****

The day is cool, frosty March. Spring soccer is ending today. The teams that were organized are in a mini-tournament. His team, the Rhinos, are playing the Orangutans. The theme was zoo animals.

"Go, Ben! Go!" she yelled as he ran down the field, little legs racing, breath coming heavily. First place probably isn't that important when your six, but she's the loudest mom nonetheless.

A few of the dads stared, her legs long and lean in light-wash denim, a tiny jacket keeping her warm and hugging her little waist. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, a little fizzy and sticking to her chap-sticked lips, still bed-raggled. She hasn't put an ounce of makeup on, which would normally mortify her, but it's Saturday, so what the hell?

The Converse sneakers are covered in mud, completely the fault of Ben's. They went walking through the woods back behind the neighborhood, bored and looking for adventure. Soon he was making her partake in game of dragons and knights and she was forgetting that the shoes were new.

He drew back his short leg, kicking just hard enough to hit the ball into the net. She cheered louder, along with the other parents. And then something made her go silent.

It was another voice, among the others, but different. It was warm but cold and welcoming but scary and undeniably sexy. She whirled around.

"Jesus," she said softly.

Derrick stepped forward, hands in front of him. He didn't move to grab her, or hug her, or hold her. He just looked her in the eye.

"Do you have any idea," he began, inching closer, "how long it took to find you?"

She blinked and didn't say anything.

"Hey, mom," came the cheery, boyish voice. She grinned down at Ben. "Didja see that? Didja see my goal? The goalie didn't even see it comin'!"

She giggled and tousled his hair. "Of course I saw it. You rock, kid!"

He blushed and looked down, kicking the grass, then knelt down to pick up his water bottle and join his coach on the other side of the field. In the game, an Orangutan attempted a complicated-looking move and failed, but the supportive parents clapped anyway.

Derrick stared after him, looking wistful. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She raised her eyebrows, no longer caring about sounding like a bitch. "Tell you? You kept me hanging for years, Derrick. You promised me over and over that you'd choose me, and you stayed with her. You kept me waiting..." She swallowed, trying not to cry.

He looked suddenly shameful.

"I left Massie three years ago." He didn't look at her as she gasped slightly. "And I started looking for you six months ago. I get it, Claire." She sniffed as he touched her arm softly. "I had a lot of growing up to do."

She looked down, bursting with regrets and memories. "I had another baby from you. In senior year."

He drew back, surprised. "What?"

"I had a miscarriage. And I didn't tell you, so deal. It all happened so quickly ... I think I always understood that you wouldn't be leaving Massie any time soon."

She let a tear fall, simply becoming more dew on the wet ground. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I just never told anyone. And I forgot a long time ago. It's my past." She looked up at him "_You're_ my past."

He didn't look defeated, though. "The old me was your past. And I love you so much, still. And I already love him."

Ben was cheering from the sidelines, finally taking a break. It was the third quarter, kids becoming intense.

She stepped forward, letting herself fall into him. He wrapped his strong arms around her and breathed her in. Her, his everything. The bits of her, all of her, that he always wanted to hold on to.

They didn't talk, they didn't kiss, they didn't sleep together that night. She just let him hold her, let him take the pain she'd suffered from him, from constantly trying to move past her past, from living as a single mother, from losing a baby that she might have even kept.

Derrick Harrington was once her drug, but now he is her cure.

* * *

**End Notes: Reviews mean the world(:**


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